


A Minor Inconvenience

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank just wants to redirect things toward the bed, but Brad insists on waxing philosophical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Minor Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

> After beginning several separate drabbles within the RHPS continuum, I decided that this thread was the strongest to follow. I regret that it does not fully include all of the themes I wanted it to, nor does it at all address the Magenta/Riff Raff/Frank tension requested - however, my tackling of that particular relationship began to turn into a 20-page epic that I hadn't the time to complete (which isn't to say I won't eventually. . .), as so many "one-shots" I begin are prone. Sometimes, self-contained drabbles are the best route to go for my fickle muse. ;P   
>  Anyhow, I hope that you enjoyed the story despite the departure, dear recipient. It was way fun to finally have the excuse to write for this fandom, and judging by some of your other fandoms and interests, I didn't think you'd object to this particular turn. Happy holidays!
> 
> Written for Truth

 

 

It was insulting.

It was unheard of.

It was. . . _inconceivable._

"You. . . don't _like_ it when I touch you?" They had had this conversation at least nine times prior; Frank was prepared to have it nine times more, if it eventually came to the same conclusion. He continued to press his lips with an exactitude of gingerness to Brad's neck - he'd determined it to be the most sensitive part of his anatomy (well, aside from the obvious, that was), and did not dawdle in exploiting it.

Brad endured this for all of five seconds before twisting away with renewed force, but this was only a minor convocation. "So _feisty_ today. . .mmmm. . ." He endeavored to pick up where he'd left off, but again, Brad thwarted him.

" _No_!" he said forcefully - and this was new, quite new. Usually, after the previous line, Brad melted into a puddle of half-hearted warnings against the so-called abuse of his body that disappeared altogether after a very crucial point. Now, however, he was backing completely away, and although his breathing was slightly betraying, there was a stern look in his eye. 

It was rather arousing, Frank decided.

"No, I _don't_ like it when you touch me! I`m not just some. . . some _doll_ for your amusement! I don't like it, so cut it out right now, you hear?" _He just_ had _to say_ doll _and ruin it, didn't he_?

The doctor waited a few moments, still quite interested in continuing their interlude. . . but this new _forcefulness_ seemed interesting in its own way. So, for the moment, he did an extraordinary thing, which only demonstrated the vastness of his heart and the keen syncopation of his mind with the fragility of human emotion - he backed off. (Of course, he was fairly confident that he could coerce Brad into seeing things his way in a couple of minutes hence, but charity is charity.)

An amused smirk now covered his face. "Strange. . . you didn't seem to think the same way earlier. Or last Monday; might I remind you of the scene? You were beneath me, begging - _begging_ -"

"You _tricked_ me! With all that nonsense about losing your favorite garter, and then. . . You. . . _you_. . ." Some of the steam visibly trickled out of him, which was almost disappointing - Frank had been in the mood for a debate (angry sex is often the best kind, as any sensible person knows). It would've been an opportune time to pounce again, but somehow, this act of pillow-biting mutiny had piqued his interest. His other agenda could always be delayed, as it answered not to a specific mood, but a permanent frame of mind.

"'I' _what_ , darling?"

Brad was floundering, but determined (adrift in the uncharted waters of pheromone awakening, what a tender time). Finally, he burst out, "Who _wouldn't_ let their emotions be twisted by you? You're too good at it, damnit, it's not fair to go about. . . tricking people into. . . into. . ."

And then, his argument deflated - as exceedingly self-satisfied as this made Frank, his benevolent disposition prevented him from overlooking Brad's turmoil as he sunk onto the bed. The troubled face of a lover; how could it be resisted? How could one not vow to smooth out its brow, to show it joy again (even if you were the cause of its absence)?

With this conveniently relocated sense of chivalry, and his name as a true purveyor of the merits of passion and happiness to uphold, Frank crossed the room to sit on the other side of the bed, all sympathetic ears.

"Speak, now, whatever is it you have on your mind?" Frank asked in soft, dulcet tones, the very image of concern. 

Silence, and then:

"Do you think I'm. . .? Er. . ." Brad contrived a cough, and didn't finish the sentence.

"Playing for the same team?" Frank suggested helpfully, in blithe ignorance of the delicacy with which Brad had tried to broach the subject. "Or ` _gay_ ', as I believe you humans refer to it?" Contemplation crossed his brow. "Curious, that. . . Surely, if you're fucking to suit your tastes you'll be happy, but who is to say they have more fun?"

Not even attempting to answer the doctor's (mostly rhetorical) musing, Brad coughed again. "Yes. Or, I mean, I guess-"

"Stop hacking, your squeamishness sounds catching. And if it'll end your paranoia, my answer to your question is no."

Brad immediately expelled a relieved sigh of a magnitude usually reserved for. . . well, subjects of more magnitude (considerations of his current living arrangements having been accounted for). "Thank God."

Frank twisted his ample lips into a pout that had undoubtedly worked to his advantage many times. "Oh, come, is it really so terrible? And why are you taking _my_ word for it anyhow?"

At this, Brad stuttered for speech. "Well, ah, it's just. . . You know. . ."

A kohl-lined eyebrow arched. "Not quite, to be truthful."

In frustration, he began to explain in earnest. "It's just the kind of thing that's not acceptable! I love women! I love their breasts, I - That's beside the point! The point is, well. . . Queer men, they have lisps and wear sweater vests, and I'm supposed to start a family, and it's not something you think about! It's not like one night, I waited outside the Triangle with all those other guys, at the back door examining my ring finger, just to see what it's like! Do you understand what this is like, huh? Do you understand what it means to-"

Frank put a hand on Brad's shoulder, drawing an abrupt end to his soliloquy and exuding a sympathetic air that would`ve been perfectly believable if you hadn`t known better. "Actually, I think I _do_ understand. You needn't say more, it's all becoming clear. . ." 

Brad took another deep, sighing breath, calming himself. "Well. . . you _should_! You _should_ understand! You just can't go up to men and start touching them. . . You have to. . . Ask first. . ."

"Oh, _really_? I'll be sure to remember next time. . ." During the recitation of this statement, Frank deliberately began to run his fingers down the length of Brad's arm, ever-so-slowly. . . He'd reached the elbow before his quarry jerked and shook them off.

"Would you - would you stop that?" His voice was loud and edged with a nervous irritation, which was all the more provoking - but the good doctor obeyed, because Brad was really being quite _open_ tonight, and the least he could do was return some semblance of seriousness.

Not being able to resist the smallest petulant frown, Frank withdrew, resolving instead to resume lying on the other side of the bed. Brad remained sitting stiffly upright on the opposite edge (no matter how many attempts were made at _loosening_ him up, he remained as high strung as an old maid's girdle). After a moment or two of silence, Frank's mouth quirked - despite these fits of righteous sexual indignation, Brad never got up and left, even when given ample opportunity. _Poor, confused Earth-boy. . ._

Propping his elbow on the mattress and supporting his head with one hand (a tried-and-true "come hither" pose mostly wasted on his guest's sightless backside), he began interrogation. "Can I persuade you to allow me to impart. . . oh, an eensy-teensy bit of my _vast_ wisdom, Brad?"

A beat. Frank counted backwards from five, and as soon as zero was reached, there was a reluctant answer. "Depends on what you mean by persuade. . ." he turned a fraction, and raised a finger of warning. "None of that `help me tighten my corset' tomfoolery, you hear?"

There was a theatrical rolling of the eyes. "Oh, don't _be_ that way. . . It's not _my_ fault you're clumsy with laces. It's not like a snow boot, you know. If I don't show you how to do these things, you'll simply _never_ learn."

Brad's face creased into the `now-you-listen-here' expression that he was oh-so good at cultivating; Frank entertained the idea of groaning and falling back into the pillow. _Earthians. . ._

"And your hands all over me, was that all part of the learning process?"

"Brad, Brad, Brad." Frank shook his head sadly and _tsk_ ed. "If you didn't _want_ my hands all over you, you could've asked me to stop, you know."

A wild look crept into Brad's eyes. "I did! Several times!"

Frank looked genuinely enlightened by this news. "Did you, now? I must not have heard. . . I can get _very_ distracted when I'm at work, you know." He smirked lasciviously and tossed his head in almost unconscious punctuation.

This was the high-heel that broke the middle-American nancy boy's back (with all due respect to the straw and the camel) for Brad, who sprang from the bed and backed hastily across the room, pointing and stuttering, chest heaving, face crazed. "You. . . you!"

The object of his incoherent rage sat up with him, still wearing a charming and placating smile, both hands raised in surrender. These naive outbursts were exactly what made Brad so attractive, but they were something of a delicately-handled obstacle when trying to get him to return to the bed. "Me _again_? Now, Brad, you simply _must_ calm down; this is all a large. . . _misunderstanding_." 

Frank's face smoothed into a demure caricature, perfectly transitioned and maintained. "If I may point out to you, you are the only one in this room who is behaving inappropriately - this is a bedroom, Brad, only _pleasurable_ things are meant to happen here. And, if I do recall. . . Only moments ago, you were expressing doubts upon your sexuality. Yet, here you are, accusing _me_ of instigating my affections upon you!" The emphasis was that the spurning of the advance of anyone who possessed the surname of Furter was a mortal wound; his brow effectively crumpled, as if the very idea troubled him. "Surely, you see the hypocrisy!"

Brad, although made slightly less certain on his feet by the doctor's very moving speech, maintained his place. "You said I _wasn't_ gay!" he yelled in defense (without much thought to the fact that he was relying on the opinion of self-professed transvestite; otherwise he might've picked a better coup de grace). 

_Goddess, this is just getting_ irritating. Frank dropped the facade completely, his logic would have to be prevailed by plainer means (he rather preferred the deception, if at all possible, but this case was exceptionally. . . _dense_. Why, even Rocky had caught on more quickly!). "Oh, don't you _understand_ already?" 

His lip curled slightly, in a general distaste for both the approaching subject matter and its subject. "Earthians, with your `gays', your `straights', your `takens'. . . rubbish, all of it. I entertained the idea that I could. . . _convert_ you, shatter your prudish worldviews. . . Your bride seems to have taken to the idea quite nicely. Is it merely your _masculine_ pride standing in the way of your following in her example, or some. . . _moral_ matter?"

" _Morals_?" Brad's nostrils flared; he advanced - his menace was really very un-menacing, and his threat certainly idle. Despite having the advantage of height, Brad hadn't the slightest _chance_ of winning in a battle of brute strength. Or wits, for that matter. His brand of science still included bunsen burners.

"What do you know of morals, you-you. . ."

"If you're going to continue with all of this `you', business, at least find an adjective." Frank's stare challenged him.

"Why, _I'll_ find an adjective - I'll find several adjectives, don't you think I won't!"

"Let's hear them, then. I'm always very interested to hear what my guests think of me. . . Well, the ones that survive, anyway. I should employ the use of comment cards. . ." He seemed to be in serious contemplation of the idea. "'How was your experience?' Oh, marvelous. I should tell Riff Raff to leave them on all the nightstands straightaway. . ." He chuckled, quite lost in the genius of his own idea.

Meanwhile, Brad grew as ruffled as a molting parrot, still at a loss of adequate syllables by which to convey his fury. It was unclear as to whether he was poised to lunge for his opponent's throat or burst into tears, however. Frank, tense by just the sight of him, sought to remedy his troubling mood. In the way a mother might absently smooth a cowlick from their child's hair before a family photo, the doctor initiated a snog - and as usual, it was as good a remedy as anything.

When Brad was good, calm and as quivering as Jell-O (the strawberry flavor of which Frank happened to be quite fond), Frank withdrew, and smiled brightly. "See, Brad, it's not all bad, is it?"

Brad was very certain he'd heard that phrase before, and spent the next few moments reeling, and trying to remember its origin. . . as well as more pertinent things like his name, and his resolve.

"It's all _sensual_. . . it doesn't have to _mean_ anything. So just. . . give into it. . . I'm sure you'll find it much easier. Perhaps even. . . _preferrable_." In the formation of this answer, Frank had successfully pinned Brad exactly where he wanted him all along - the bed.

"Alright?" He was looking down upon him, with a Cheshire grin, hands already on his shoulders, caressing. . .

It seemed perfectly reasonable. In fact, it all made sense, somehow; it all ceased to matter. A moment of divine clarity touched Brad, just as it had touched Janet that time in Rocky's tank.

He nodded - and moaned.

The dimensions of Frank's grin expanded to their full, delightfully wicked capacity. "Good boy."

As he pulled the chain on the lamp, Brad grabbed him `round the neck - and a not a further word was heard from either all afternoon. _Sounds_ , however, may've been another story.

 


End file.
